


Waiting to be picked, come on cut me free

by smell_the_roses



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (sad), Harry is Wesley, Hate to Love, Liam is a butler type of person, Louis is Buttercup, M/M, Niall is head kitchen cook, No Smut, Princess Bride AU, Zayn is a mysterious man, but seriously there isn't smut because i ran out of time to give this fic, sort of but not at all, the Tomlinson girls are cute af, the lack of zayn in this story hurts my heart, what even is this, which is canon btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3590208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smell_the_roses/pseuds/smell_the_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Bride AU</p>
<p>The Tomlinson family is broken and has been for a while when Harry joins the kitchens staff. He finds himself caught in doing whatever the eldest son asks of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting to be picked, come on cut me free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beedlethecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beedlethecat/gifts).



> beedlecat-Your prompts were so good. That frat au deserves time because it is brilliant!
> 
> Everyone else-most of this is a pining disaster of a thing. The ending is obviously rushed and when I have time I'm going to go in a write a second part with all the stuff I wanted to add but couldn't.
> 
> Thanks to H for the last minute beta (all mistakes are mine). Enjoy!
> 
> Title from Marina and the Diamonds (NEW ALBUM IT'S SO GOOD TO GET IT!?) "Froot"

Harry Styles’s apprenticeship to Niall Horan at the Tomlinson estate was approved under the agreement that Harry would take residence in Doncaster. He isn’t sure how else he’d hold the position since the trip there would take too long every day on foot, but he’s glad to note that he will have a firm place. Ecstatic even because Harry’s heard the whispers of how extravagant the estate is and how well the servants are treated.

Still, he cries when his mum holds him for the last time for a while.

She shushes him. “I’m so proud of you. Remember that.”

Teary-eyed, Harry promises with a kiss to the cheek and climbs into the waiting carriage. It’s fancier than what he was expecting because he really wasn’t expecting to be picked up at all. His mother and him planned for him to do a one-day trek to the residence. Had even packed food accordingly.

He supposes this is much easier on everyone.

“Alright?”

Harry yelps at the man in the shadows and calms his racing heart with a hand to his chest. He looks like nobility and is dressed accordingly. Ink doodles run up and down his arms and Harry traces each of them with his eyes. He has a few of his own tattoos but this man’s are quite foreign to him. The entirety of his apparel whispers hintings of a country far from England. His shoulders are clothed in a dark robe lined with golden thread. The clothe of it looks to be soft to the touch while the man’s face looks to be rough, faint scars cover the edges of it. Stories of battle, Harry assumes.

But he has yet to appease the man’s inquiry. “Yes, I apologise,” he stammers over himself to say quickly.

The man tilts his head and runs a pair of gold-touched eyes across Harry’s face. He feels faint from the blatant attention the man of wealth is giving him. “You don’t have to apologise to me. I gained no offense from the state of your distress,” Harry is informed after a thorough scrutiny. “But I would like for you to tell the truth. Are you alright?”

“No,” he divulges in a whisper. “Not sure when I’ll see her again.”

The secret goes uncommented. The man nods and turns his head away, viewing the scenery of Holmes Chapel as it flies away. Eventually, Harry is surprised to hear a silent, “I’m sorry.”

Blinking away a fresh wave of tears, he laughs incredulously. “You don’t have to apologise to me,” he repeats back to the man.

He’s regarded with another scrutiny. “No, I don’t, but I do feel for your circumstance. Empathize with it.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that and the carriage is silent for a while. Sometime between the plains of Cheshire and the hills of Doncaster, Harry falls asleep to the rocking sway of horse trots. He’s woken by the man and is shocked to find the world dark around him.

“We’re approaching our destination,” the man says and nods out at the nightfallen sky. “You’ll be taken to your bed as soon as possible. I believe Horan will be waiting to do that.”

Harry nods in acknowledgement, but his head is heavy. Sleep unaiding in quickening his thought process. “Who are you?” he finally asks.

The man chuckles and bit and runs a hand through his silky blackened hair. “A friend of your employer.”

God, he’s really pushing on the mysterious trait. Harry is too underranked to really push for a better answer and grumbles to himself over it.

They pass through a village quickly. Due to the time of night, most houses are dark, but there are a few lanterns lit enough so that the road is easy to ride on. The carriage rides up and down a total of three hills before Harry sees a stone castle. The people inside still must be awake because the windows are lit and the estate is easy to find. Even with the limited light Harry is taken by the decadence.

The castle is large. Looking on it now makes it hard for Harry to imagine anywhere being bigger even though he knows this to be one of the smallest noble residences of England. The tops of the towers look to be growing with each passing turn almost as if they are threatening to plunge into the heavens. The carriage stops underneath the entrance to a stone floored courtyard. The man gets out here and waves to keep Harry in his seat.

“Good luck to you,” he says with a departing wave that Harry never gets to return.

The carriage moves quickly now down a narrow path, passing the entrance of the castle altogether. They ride directly into the horses stable where a man with blonde hair and bright, blue eyes seems to be waiting for them.

He greets the carriage driver first before leaning in and nodding at Harry. “You must be the fresh talent then? Baker from Cheshire?”

“Yes,” he confirms with a nod and moves to leave the carriage.

“You’re much prettier than what I expected,” the man-boy says with a wink and Harry is left speechless.

His face feels like it’s on fire when the man barks out a round of laughter. “No need to be shy. This place attracts pretty people. It’s like a blessing hidden in the curse of it all. Niall Horan, I’ll be your mentor.”

Niall ducks away and grabs his one trunk from the back while chatting happily to the carriage driver about the spring crops. Harry’s follows the both of them to the castle, head filled with questions and stomach brimmed with lead. He’s dizzy, to say the least, when he’s thrown a roll of bread and guided to corridor off from the kitchens.

“Servant’s keep,” Niall explains to practically dead ears.

Harry nods when he’s pulled into one of the dark rooms. A bed, fireplace, and porcelain pot with a towel are all laid out for use.

“Liam Payne goes around and wakes everyone in the morning. He doesn’t do more than knock on your door because he’s got a whole castle to do so if you miss that then you’re dead. Don’t worry though because everyone sleeps through one or five of them each year. You get water for your face every morning in the kitchens,” he nods at the porcelain bowl. “The earlier you rise, the warmer it will be. The rest of it we can work out tomorrow, ya?”

He smacks Harry’s back with a friendly pat and moves to leave. Harry stops him. “What did you mean by curse? Earlier?”

The Irishman’s face falls considerably and he chuckles darkly to himself. “I don’t suppose you’ll be comfortable with the idea of me letting you figure that one out for yourself,” he starts but is quick to explain himself. “Best and worst place I’ve ever worked for. Best because they care to make sure you’re well off and not working about life in a ratty costume and an empty stomach. Worst for my own reasons, I guess. I’m not sure what to tell you other than, well, the Tomlinsons are a broken family.”

Before Harry can question further, Niall is shuffling away. “We’ll talk more later. Sleep well!”

***

Harry doesn’t sleep well. He doesn’t sleep at all. Instead, he finds himself sneaking out of his room in search for fresh air. It’s ridiculous because he must have a death sentence, he supposes, but he really needs to not be confined in that small room for a little bit. Needs to pretend for a while longer.

What he finds when he walks into the kitchens is Niall Horan and a bloke with a bulky build, puffy pink lips, and oiled hair. He’s adorable in his own way and Harry’s reminded of Niall’s sentiment earlier. Everyone here is pretty.

“You’re new,” the latter lad greets him before shaking his head. “Right, the baker. What are you doing up?”

“Erm.”

“Leave ‘im, Liam. The whole castle will know soon enough,” Niall says, waving off the man and turning his back to Harry.

The man, Liam, gives him a second glance before following lead and resting his face in his hands. Harry...doesn’t really know what to do. They seem openly distraught. He decides on pretending its his mother or sister anxiously sitting at the small, wooden table and puts a kettle on the burning coals of the kitchen fireplace.

“Bless you,” Niall says when Harry hands him a cuppa.

He takes a seat after handing Liam one and waits. It only takes a second before Liam fills him in. “The Duke and Duchess were fighting and his grace left the premises on horseback. Again. We’re waiting for him to return.”

Niall laughs. It’s empty sounding. “Broken family, I tell you. Her grace married into this wealth, did you know? The Tomlinsons keep it a secret. Pretend like their oldest is blood of the both of them.”

Harry winces at his cold tone and pulls his bottom lip with his fingertips. Keeping himself from uttering emotional words on what he knows of these situations. His own father left while him and his sister were young. His mum remarried a great man. They’re stronger than they’ve ever been before.

But, while he keeps his mouth busy, he reminds himself that not families of broken wedlock turn out the way his did.

“When does he usually come back?” he asks.

Liam coughs. “Should be back by now, actually.”

Oh.

He tucks in for a the wait.

***

The morning light hits a duo of somber boys. Liam left a while back to start his rounds of awaking the castle. Niall is still frozen in his spot at the table and staring resolutely at the a place on the horizon. So...Harry takes it on himself to prepare a meal for the castle.

Four other kitchenmaids introduce themselves to him as they prep. Perrie, the blonde one with blue eyes that match Niall’s intensity, informs him that they throw together five cauldrons of eggs, cheese, pork, and potatoes for the staff of the castle and then they cook up something lighter for the nobility. The four of them, Jade, Jesy, Leigh-Anne, and Perrie, guide Harry through the whole process very gently. They all take turns in sending worried looks Niall’s way.

As they start the course for the Tomlinsons’, Niall seems to break from himself and moves into action. He doesn’t talk, but he points at them in an order for what they should do. Harry finds that they end up making a home favourite of his. Ground oats, sweet maple, and apples, something his mum would make for him the morning of important events. He finds the other girls exchanging more worried looks with one another as they finish.

“Lottie, Fizzy, and Phoebe take eggs with every breakfast,” Niall’s voice frightens everyone in the room. Other servants have come and gone, the cauldrons of breakfast diminishing with each passing individual. “Daisy will take an egg but prefers jam covered toast, same for Lady Tomlinson. Louis will not eat anything until lunch but still requires food to be placed in front of him. Harry, you are to make him a cuppa. Exactly like the one you made me earlier--sweet. Get on it.”

Blinking, Harry does as he’s told and scrambles to find the kettle he put on earlier. Jesy pats his back encouragingly and it does help in calming his nerves even with the atmosphere feeling charged with fire.

Liam comes into the room and confirms the worst. “Lady Tomlinson has sent a search party after Lord Tomlinson. I am in need of an extra hand in the dining room.”

Niall curses and accidentally pours hot water on the floor. Harry jumps up. “I can do it.”

Jade sends him a look full of gratitude as she helps Niall clean up the steaming mess on the ground and he nods to her before following Liam out of the kitchens. They stop in the first room they pass and Liam starts gathering an outfit together.

“You seem to be Jared’s size, which is helpful. As soon as we can, we’ll get you fitted so you won’t need to borrow if this situation arises again,” Liam says in a calculating manner. He places in the articles in Harry’s arms and moves around the room. Harry takes this as his cue to dress when Liam continues to train him. “Keep against the wall with your hands behind your back. The others in the room will know when to serve and you will be informed nonverbally if you are needed to help. Do not look any of the Tomlinson’s in the eye while they eat or talk to themselves and always speak when addressed to.”

Liam helps where Harry is struggling with his pocket square. “Harry, please do not indicate any knowledge of your knowing of Lord Tomlinson. Yes, nearly everyone knows. A search party sent out doesn’t go unnoticed but that is part of the art, innit?”

“Sorry?” he inquires, letting Liam take control of the final details of his attire.

“Pretending we’re invisible.”

He’s lead to a gorgeous room soon afterwards with his head buzzing. The walls are a pastel yellow, the corners of which are etched in gold leaf trimming. A huge window adorns the west wall and places it all under perfect lighting. The table is a chestnut wood and covered in a white lining. But, most of all, Harry finds beauty in the two tired looking girls waiting at the table.

He follows the looks of the other three servants until he finds his place on the wall and waits. It’s only a few moments before one of the girls starts fidgeting in her seat.

“I wanted to sit there.” She’s wearing a pale blue dress that rightly contradicts her sister’s red.

“You sat down first? If you wanted to sit here, you would have sat here, Phoebe,” the next girl remarks.

Phoebe sighs. “You sat first and you sat in the spot I wanted.”

The other girl rolls her eyes. “You’re so childish, Daisy. We’re just sitting, why does it matter?”

Suddenly, but maybe not all that surprisingly, Daisy begins to wail. Tears roll down her delicate cheeks and she pushes her sister to the floor. Harry looks over at each of the other servants but none of them move. They seem to want to as much as he does.

But the moment doesn’t last because a man wearing a deep purple tunic, light brown trousers, and well-fitted boots strides into the room as though beckoned by the quarrel. His feathered brown fringe matches the light colour of the girls, but his storm blue eyes are entirely his own. His stance is sharp--chin raised, curved eyebrows set, and lips pressed in a thin line. His back is straight in a way only those who were taught proper posture could imitate.

He’s beautiful and he’s terrifying. At once Harry knows him to be the eldest son. The one who is not blood-royal but those with lesser knowledge would be a fool for even pondering the thought.

“What is this?” A higher, rough quality of voice falls from the man. Harry sees from the corner of his eye all the servants straighten their slackened backs.

Phoebe falls into a fresh bout of sobs upon his inquiry and Harry notices for the first time that her hair is covered in jam.

Louis’s eyes never stray from his sisters. “Where is the main course?” he asks aloud. Three of the other servants move from the walls and stride out of the room at once. Harry tries to catch their eye but they’re steadfast in their movements to the kitchens.

He gulps, anxious that he missed some order that Liam never trained him on.

“Fetch Ms. Catherine and have her draw another bath for the girls,” Louis says, bringing him from his inner turmoil.

Harry nearly doesn’t think he’s being addressed until the elder boy’s eyebrows furrow and his gaze shoots up. It burns him and he’s shuffling for the door. Only when he’s in what he assumes to be the main hall does Harry realise he has no knowledge of anything that pertains to the life outside of the kitchens and dining hall.

Luckily, a handmaid is running around, opening drapes and muttering to herself. “Excuse  me,” he calls to her and startles her so badly she has to grab at her chest. “Can you guide me to a Ms. Catherine? The girls need to be drawn another bath.”

“I can fetch her, she’s turning the girl’s linens in the laundry room now,” she mutters and scurries off.

Harry blinks and frowns. That was...too easy, wasn’t it? He has to shake that feeling out of his head before turning on his heel and returning to the hall. What he finds there stops him at the threshold.

The three Tomlinsons are alone and holding onto each other tight. Louis is whispering down at them about how strong they are, how smart and brave they’ve grown to be. It’s a private moment that lasts only a second longer before Louis is pulling away and guiding his sisters to their seats.

Slack jawed, Harry watches the other servants carry in sets of breakfasts, unaware of the sentiments exchanged in the room only a minute prior.

He’s caught in his shocked state by no other than Louis Tomlinson.

“Apple,” he addresses Harry, there’s a hint of a blush climbing up his neck. “I need a fresh apple from our orchard.”

Shivering, Harry nods and turns away, catching the eyes of the other, surprised servants. He goes in the direction of the outside but has no clue whether the Tomlinsons even have an orchard. They must have something or else Louis wouldn’t have asked for it.

A helpful farmboy finds him in his struggle and they pick an apple together but upon reentering the dining hall, he finds it to be empty. Four plates of breakfast go untouched, including Louis’s,  but his cuppa is drank clean.

***

“Louis hates apples,” Liam tells Harry that afternoon as they’re preparing supper. Lunch went well mostly because it isn’t a formal meal. Daisy and Phoebe eat during their tea party in their room, Fizzy ate in the library, Lottie, Louis, and Lady Tomlinson ate in their chambers.

The search party has yet to come back so Harry is on supper duty again and dreading it.

“Why would he ask for an apple, then?”

Liam shrugs and fixes the collar of his jacket coat. “Maybe he wanted to give it to a sister? I don’t know.”

Harry grumbles but allows this, remembering the way Louis held onto the twins like they would break otherwise. Liam snorts and fixes him in place with a fond smile. “Look, you did good, ya? Louis told you to get an apple, you did, the end. That’s all that matters.”

Harry holds in a sigh and nods his agreement. That’s one way to look at it. But. Liam wasn’t there, was he? He didn’t see the crazed look in Louis’s eye when he demanded Harry fetch the fruit.

“We have two courses tonight. Roast and glazed sweet bread,” Jesy interrupts them and nudges Harry toward the dining hall.

“Don’t worry about the apple, Harry,” Liam calls after him.

Right. A bubble of nerves is locked in his chest when he walks into the room and finds it empty, save for the other three servants. They nod at him and he returns it before flitting down to his placement.

Louis comes into the room first and it hits Harry hard. He’s changed his outfit from the purple tunic to a red one coupled with a black cloak. His earlier, powerful presence has not left, however. Harry can feel it hit the room in waves as he takes his seat at the right of the head of the table. And then he ignores everything in favour of fiddling with his cutlery.

An echo of giggles precedes the twins’ entrance into the hall. They pile into their respective seats and give Louis a wide grin that has even Harry melting.

“Lord Malik taught us how to pickpocket, Lou!” Daisy giggles. The girls are wearing different outfits but Harry can tell them apart now by the way they talk. Daisy is magnamic. She moves with her whole body in a way that requires anyone she’s speaking to to give her their whole attention.

Phoebe is more cautious with her gesturing. Her voice is timid and polite. “Daisy, you promised we wouldn’t tell.”

Louis looks to be fighting a smile. “Why would Malik teach you two such a thing,” he says in a mock stern voice.

“Because we’re smart girls,” Phoebe says, sounding like she reciting a line.

Louis beams and. Shit. Louis is smiling. “That you are,” he informs them and turns to address a servant to Harry’s left. “Where is Lady Charlotte and Lady Felicite?”

A pretty young woman with long, blonde hair and big, brown eyes comes into the room and blinks around. A small, terrier dog trots in after her. “Here, Lou. Sorry ‘m late. Had to take Gregory out for a stroll,” she says, sliding over to her older brother and placing a kiss on his cheek.

Louis waves off her apology, a huge smile still firm on his face. “Where’s Fizzy, then?”

Lottie frowns and fidgets before taking a seat. “She’s refusing to leave the library.”

Harry watches as the world shifts all due to Louis’s change of posture. It goes like this: his smile drops from his face and the candlelights dim, his lips are pressed into a thin line and charge of energy hits the atmosphere, he straightens in his seat and everyone else seems to shrink. His body is like a compass, guiding everything around him with each worried eyebrow furrow.

“Please inform Lady Felicite that all major meals will be taken place here with her family,” he commands, eyes set right on Harry.

He’s frozen in his spot though. Harry’s never been good to follow harsh demands even less so now because Louis seems to be furious. Absolute and completely upset just by the fact that his sister isn’t present for this meal.

He’s an idiot. Harry’s a complete and utter imbecile because he tries to speak. See, there’s a memory in his mind. One created while preparing this meal. He remembers Liam mentions something about Fizzy and the library. “Fizzy requested to take her supper in the library, Sir.”

Louis’s eyes flashed rage like a lightning bolt and Harry knew he is in serious trouble.

“Your Grace,” he says.

Harry blinks in shock. He was preparing for the worst. “Sorry?”

Louis’s head is turned and staring resolutely at the centerpiece on the table. It’s a flower piece that Liam thoughtfully put together of Lady Tomlinson’s favoured flowers. Of course, the Duchess isn’t here to see the ensemble.

“As a master of this estate you are to address me as Your Grace only. Now please tell me as to why Lady Felicite would suppose she could make that request.”

Harry can’t help the choked off noise of surprise at the attack. He sounds so cruel, so uninterested in anything Harry has to offer him and it hurts. It angers him, really. Enough so that he’s making things up. “Lady Felicite has decided she is not hungry and will miss supper this evening. She knows that this request will not be denied because of the...absence of Her Grace.”

It was the wrong thing to say judging by the way everything in the room shifts to bring him to the focus. Six blatantly incredulous looks stare at him while one face looks on impassively. Like Harry’s some portion of the wall Louis doesn’t particularly favour. In fact, he once-overs Harry very slowly, taking in every centimeter with an air of distaste before stopping at his forehead and tilting his head.

Louis calms his troubled sisters with a look and stands, staring down at the table lining. “Please inform Niall and Lady Tomlinson that due to unfortunate circumstances we will need to move our dinner to the library,” he says slowly almost as if each word were to be written down by a person still learning the alphabet.

Then it happens. Louis grabs the table lining firmly between his fingertips and quickly pulls it back, too slowly for the porcelain plating and silver cutlery to do much more than fall to the ground in an abrupt crash.

The girls scream in shock while Louis walks away.

Harry is taken off duty.

Meals for the next two weeks are taken place in the library.

***

A terrible rumour is spread on the estate. So awful that people are ashamed to repeat it, yet it gets around. Harry hears it through Perrie while they’re mixing a frosting for the dessert ham. A mix of raspberries, apples, and other sweets in a ham broth.

“They’re saying that Duke Tomlinson is asking after the girls. He’s going to take them to live with him in London.”

Harry’s caught up in his stirring process he almost doesn’t completely listen to her. Perrie is often mentioning little affairs servants are having with each other. Something of a fun time in between their hours of work.

“Wait. Did you say the girls are being taken away?” he asks, looking up from the creme and straight at Perrie.

She nods sadly and bites her bottom lip. “Overheard Niall talking to Liam about it.”

He almost asks if there’s no way to stop it or if people aren’t trying to stop it but he knows. He knows that if a father wants his children he will get them. The church and the state have always gone behind the man’s word

Still.

He hands his spoon to Perrie and marches toward where he knows Niall is preparing the dried fruits. He knocks harshly on the door and waits for his mentor and friend to open it.

“He’s taking them away?” he asks weakly upon seeing Niall’s face.

He doesn’t answer but his torn face is answer enough so Harry nods.

“Bright side, Lady Tomlinson has requested her children to join her at breakfast in the dining room tomorrow morning. First time you’ll be meeting her,” Niall says, faking enthusiasm easily and hip checking the door so Harry can get into the room to help him lay out the fruit.

Wait. “You mean first time she’ll be eating my sweet bread?”

Niall looks guilty. Shit. “Liam’s short staffed on account of the flu season, a’right? Just try not to offend anyone and you’ll be good.”

“Louis hates me.” He says it as though it is a fact because...well, it is.

Niall slaps him on the shoulder playfully. “He doesn’t hate you. Probably. I mean, you haven’t given him reason to particularly like you either, you know.”

Harry squawks in outrage. “Excuse me, sir. The world does not work that way. Everyone should be nice just to be nice. Nice is good.”

“I don’t even know what you mean by half the words you spew, Haz. Oh, help me move these peaches before they juice all over my prunes.”

***

If Louis is surprised to see him standing rod straight against the wall the next morning, he doesn’t show it. Harry hardly even notices him, to be honest. The Lady of the estate is gorgeous. He sees where the girls get their delicate disposition. Where they get the fire in their eyes from. Of course, Her Grace is more like Louis than anything else. She stands proper, her stance not showing her grief of the past. It’s mesmerizing and Harry knows his mother and her would be the best of mates.

The only person missing from the set is… “Where’s Lady Felicite?” the Duchess inquires.

No one answers her. Harry catches Lottie sneak a bit of sausage to her lap dog.

Louis rolls his eyes and answers, “She is not feeling well enough to join us this morning.”

“Send me Payne,” the Lady sighs and motions at the servant closest to the door. She flits away and Louis places one of his finger on the temple of his head.

He doesn’t remove it when a red-faced, panting form of Liam comes barreling into the room. “Your Grace.” He nods at the Lady.

“I won’t have Felicite hiding up there forever. Tell her she must come at once or I will have you forcibly remove her,” she requests of Liam in a clipped tone of voice, one similar to Louis’s and it makes Harry shiver.

Liam pales considerably and Harry can see the struggle in his face before he’s nodding and straightening to do as requested. Louis stops him and gets up.

“Hold for a moment,” he tells Liam and leans down. Harry can’t tell from his placement, but it looks as though he’s placing a sweet kiss on his mother cheek.

She sighs when he backs away and turns back to Liam. “Your assistance won’t be necessary. Good day.”

Liam nods gratefully and ducks out of the room quickly. Harry is surprised to find that Louis leaves as well. More surprised to find that Louis catches his eye and motions for Harry to follow. He feels outright ridiculous in his hesitant steps to get out of the room because part of him thinks he imagined Louis addressing him at all. Like some made up fantasy he’s been having in between restless nightmares.

When he steps into the hall outside the dining room, Louis is there, waiting. Harry didn’t know what he was expecting.

Louis also doesn’t look directly at him when he talks. “There’s a book in the library Daisy and Phoebe need for their studies. One about the history of England. Fetch that for me, would you?” The command is ordered quick and quiet. Like a secret.

The dots start to connect. “Would you like me to accompany you to the library while I fetch that book?” he asks just to confirm his suspicions.

Louis turns on his heels and walks away quickly. “If you must,” he calls over his shoulder.

Harry nods to himself and. Well. Okay. He has to jog at a considerable pace to catch Louis and keep a slower, but still unnecessarily fast step to stay close. And Louis seems to be going faster each time Harry so much as breaths near him.

The thought pops up at the stairs leading up to the library’s corridors. What if Louis excused Liam because he wanted to be the one to drag Felicite away from the library? And the thing is is that the thought to him isn’t all that unthinking. The way Lady Tomlinson just let Louis take control of the situation instead of contesting should have been his first warning. Or even the way Louis seemed so uneasy asking for Harry’s assistance.

Yeah. Harry can’t do this. At the top of the flight of stairs, he speaks, “Your Grace, I must inform you that if you were hoping I’d...help physically enforce Lady Felicite’s removal--”

The look on Louis’s face stops his statement. “You’re a fool.”

Harry blinks at the harsh statement said in such a calm manner. And then, as if he feels the hammer jammed into his chest, Louis reaches out and touches Harry’s arm. It’s a quick thing. He didn’t feel the contact at all, but Harry knows it happened, having watched it.

“I do believe I asked you to grab a book,” Louis says between clenched teeth, hands behind his back and muscles straining in his neck.

Hurt and confused, Harry’s the one that leads the mock-procession into the library. He’s been in there before to set up meals and knows the place to be that of reverence. The smell of dust and humidity soaked leather hits his nose and almost makes him sneeze, but he breezes past all that (taking into account the small figure of Fizzy huddled in the corner) and marches to the far left corner.

He can’t actually read. Harry meant to learn, he really did, but his father left when he was young and his mother needed him to learn the trade quickly. He’s embarrassed by himself, in all honesty. Even Niall and Liam are under the impression he can write his own name or read the recipes they set out. In all actuality, Harry is good at distractions and getting Niall to vocalise the ingredients for a meal.

He never thought that Louis Tomlinson would ask for him to a retrieve a book.

So, he’s so caught up trying to decipher the letters on the bindings of everything that when Louis calls for him, he startles out a yelp and jumps.

“Easy there, bunny rabbit. Forget the book, you can grab it for me later,” Louis calls from where him and his sister are waiting by the door.

Harry catalogues Fizzy’s expression as he walks to them and finds no hintings of being forced into anything. Although she does look fairly uncomfortable. Louis rolls his eyes at him when he glances over and motions at the door. Flushing, he follows the two of them out.

At the stairs is where Fizzy starts hyperventilating.

“Grab her hands,” Louis orders Harry and pulls her back against his chest, rocking her back and forth.

Harry steps forward and grabs the girl’s small palms into his own. They’re freezing, shaking like the rest of her body.

“One,” Louis says and repeats until a faint voice echoes the number. “Two,” he continues until him and Fizzy reach twenty. “It’s not your fault, Felicite. You’re strong, brave, and massively intelligent. What could you have possibly done?”

The question is meant to be rhetorical. Fizzy answers it anyway. “I told him I didn’t like the way he shouted at mummy. He was so angry, Lou.”

Louis shushes her and Harry really shouldn’t be here. He really should be in the kitchens, pretending like Louis’s existence flaws the world in some way. “Darling, no. Never angry at you. Never.”

She hiccups and Louis continues to rock her for a while longer until they absolutely have to return to the dining hall. Harry doesn’t know what comes over him, but when Louis pulls away, he ducks down and smacks a loud kiss to the top of Fizzy’s hand. It makes her giggle. When he pulls away, Louis is fixing a button on his tunic.

Under the impression of giving them some space, Harry walks down the staircase first and overhears the quiet reassurances Louis continuously pours over to his sister. They continue like that until they reach the room and Harry can’t possibly hold his guilty in like this forever.

As the two walk into the door, Fizzy first and Louis following, Harry let’s out a quiet, “You’re right. I was a fool,” to the boy’s back.

The freezing of the muscles in his shoulders is the only indication Harry gets that Louis heard him at all.

***

The day the sisters leave is the same day Harry is ordered to muck the stables. He’s internally outraged by the chore, even more so when he learns that Louis is the one who ordered it.

“I’m an apprentice to the chef,” he mutters to himself darkly.

The horses don’t respond.

So, he gets to work. The labor of it all is the continual motion in his shoulder blades and back. Harry mucks with a pitchfork at first, pulling the oldest of the hay out from the corners of the stable and throwing it in a pile to be taken to the farmlands. With every sting to his lower back, a new wave of anger filters into his blood making him push more aggressively into the chore. It’s a beautiful circulatory chain of reaction, because he finishes a quarter of the stables rather quickly, considering he has no special talent in hard labor.

At about the halfway point, he hears sobbing all the way from the courtyard. Harry’s shirtless by this point, the sweltering heat of the sun unmerciful despite his hard work. He stops there and rests. Pictures the tear-stained goodbyes happening at the moment and shivers at them because all he can imagine is the broken face of a beautiful boy.

Ridiculous because Louis hates him. Even more ridiculous because he’s supposed to hate Louis.

“It doesn’t really look like you’re mucking.”

Harry blinks hard at the ground and wills the body of the voice to go away. Nope, it doesn’t work because when he looks up he sees Louis casually leaning against the threshold of the stable doors.

This is painfully awkward. “I’m resting.”

“Yes, I can see that. Shirtless too. Wow, times have really changed since I was a stable boy,” he comments lightly and snorts at himself.

Is this actually happening?

Louis is admiring a pile of soiled hay with his hands crossed behind his back when Harry gains the workings of his tongue. “Should you be with your s--”

“You don’t really have a very good formation here. See, if the wind picks up anymore all of this will fly over to your clean side.” He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Useless, honestly. Asking a baker to do a stable boy’s job. I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Louis walks over swiftly and grabs the pitchfork from where its resting next to Harry’s legs. “No matter. I’m good at this, watch.”

And watch Harry does. Louis Tomlinson, son of Lady Tomlinson and, soon to be revoked, half-son of Lord Tomlinson of Doncaster mucks the stables of his own estate. Each swing of the pitchfork is skilled, yet more and more frantic. He hears, rather than observes, the small, choked off sounds of sobs.

They pull Harry out of himself and chase him into finding a second pitchfork and working alongside Louis.

When they finish, they’re both covered in sweat. Louis’s former elegant threads of attire are drenched in dirt, muck, and wayfaring sticks of hay. It nearly masks the regalness of the cloths. Even more so when they both carry handfuls of the used hay to the back of a wagon that will be driven to the countryside.

Harry wonders how he can still find the boy to be beautiful.

They go separate ways at sunset.

***

The estate is a mess and the only two persons pretending that everything is normal are the former nobilities.

Money isn’t an issue.

The duke gives the castle an allowance each month. Albeit, the staff was shortened somewhat to accommodate, but the Tomlinsons’ lifestyle is untouched.

Their titles were striped from them. Removed as soon as Jay Tomlinson’s marriage was revoked just the last week.

Harry is fidgety. He’s tried to at least catch Louis’s eye each chance he has with the boy. Liam appointed him as an official table servant as two others were part of the layoff. Even with the appointment, Harry has forgotten what it’s like to receive attention from the tired looking boy. Each time he sees Louis he notices a new shade of darkened rings underneath his eyes.

So he hops on a chance to get closer as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

“I can waken His Grace.”

Liam jumps at Harry’s enthusiasm and shrugs. “Okay, but make sure he knows he needs to be down to breakfast or else his mother will have his head, ya?”

Niall laughs and wiggles his eyebrows at them. “Don’t say ‘head’ around Harry, you might give him ideas.”

Harry chokes on his own spit and gawks at his mentor. Liam looks unsurprised and explains with a soft smile, “You aren’t particularly subtle about your fancy, Harry. You practically bore holes into the side of his head at mealtimes.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Niall giggles to himself.

Offended and one hundred percent embarrassed, Harry gestures rudely at them and stomps his way out of the kitchens. He walks more delicately the closer he gets to Louis’s bedchambers and realises. Well, yeah, okay he sort of does have a massive, all-encompassing crush on Louis. His feelings for him have always been extreme, now they happen to point in a less homicidal light.

Buzzing with his own self-discovery, he races to the east wing of the castle, nodding at the waiting servants as he goes. Outside Louis’s bedchambers, Harry gives himself a mental pep talk and assures himself that he will be chill.

Of course, that gets thrown out the window when he sees a sleep rustled, bare-chested Louis Tomlinson.

“What are you doing here?” he yelps and attempts to cover himself with his blankets.

Harry blinks. “Erm--”

“Where’s Liam?” Louis demands.

“Busy,” Harry supplies.

Louis pouts and Harry about races for the hills. But no, he has to relieve his worrying after the bloke. “Lady Tomlinson requests you join her for breakfast as soon as possible,” he tells the droopy eyed former-Lord.

Yawning, Louis waves him off. “Sure, sure, be down soon.”

Harry nods in confirmation and turns on his heel to get away. He didn’t realise just how beautiful Louis is. Like, he knew, but it’s different now that he’s recognised his own affections. He feels as though a fire has been lit in his chest.

“Wait,” Louis calls after him, causing Harry to pause in his movement.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Harry replies and returns to his former stance of facing the eldest son.

“Fetch my attire from my wardrobe.

Nodding, Harry strides to the far left corner of the room and runs a light touch over the soft fabrics of Louis’s cloths. He picks a deep green pair trousers, light brown tunic, and dark brown cape. Carefully, he lifts his picked choice of an outfit and places it on Louis’s bed.

Louis doesn’t even look at it. “Not those.”

It hurts for a second. Harry returns to the wardrobe and picks his selection based on what he’s seen Louis actually wear before. Yellow tunic, brown trousers, very simple.

He glances at what Harry’s picked this time. “Definitely not.”

“Does Your Grace have a particular set he’d like to wear today?” Harry asks slowly just noticing the tips of Louis’s lips curving into a small smile.

“Preferably something nice,” he sighs, plucking a stray hair from his bed linings.

An familiar, yet forgotten feeling instantly fills Harry’s chest and colours the tips of his ears. He feels humiliated. So, he goes back to the wardrobe and takes his time picking his choice of attire. Louis watches him this time when he pulls a deep blue tunic and black trousers and sets them on his bed.

He blinks at them and turns his head, pointing at an ink bottle set on a desk just meters away from the large bed. “Grab that for me.”

If Louis just stretched a bit more, he’d be able to touch the bottle. Yet, Harry walks over and snatches the bottle from the stand and hands it over to the boy. He points to a pile of parcels and quills. Harry grabs that for him as well.

With his supplies, Louis untwists the lid on his ink, dips his quill in, and scratches scribblings on the paper. When he’s finished, he slowly closes the ink bottle and holds the drying parcel out over the edge of the bed. He drops it and it falls gracefully to the floor.

“Pick that up,” Louis orders.

More hesitantly, Harry walks over and retrieves the parcel. Louis doesn’t take it when Harry hands it back to him.

“Read it out loud,” he demands.

When Harry doesn’t move, Louis nods to himself. “You can’t read,” he states.

Harry doesn’t contradict it.

Louis waves him away and tells him he has no use for Harry for the rest of the day.

***

A gorgeous man with tanned skin and gold eyes is waiting for him in Harry’s quarters when he finishes his chores for the day. Harry never thought he’d see the man ever again.

“I knew you’d be special, Harry Styles,” the man informs him before grinning a crooked smile and holding his hand out. “Lord Malik.”

Harry takes it and smiles widely. “You’re the man from the carriage.”

Malik nods and lays himself across Harry’s mattress. “I am to teach you to read and write,” he tells Harry’s ceiling and wiggles around. “As soon as possible, but I’m rather tired.”

Wait.

“You are to teach me to read and write?” Harry echoes. Much to his annoyance, Malik seems to find favour in ignoring him and dozing off. “Under whose direction?”

A snuffle. “You know the answer to that question. Please don’t waste my time.”

It takes him a minute, but Harry remembers this morning and Louis’s observation on his lack of schooling. His neck flushes with the memory and he ducks his head.

“Louis?” he asks.

Malik rolls his head to look at Harry and raises an eyebrow. He takes Harry’s inquiry as a change of subject. “He’s miserable, you know. Misses his sisters with the entirety of his heart. Well, maybe not the entirety of it seeing as I’m here.”

Harry fidgets and sighs before sitting himself on the floor where he stood. “He looks awful.”

Malik hums and shifts some more. “He’s going to offer his services to his former father so he can be around them.”

“Sorry?” Harry pauses and stares at the side of Malik’s face.

He shrugs. “He’s not a noble anymore, never really was to begin with, and he doesn’t want to be isolated from his sisters for the rest of his life.”

Harry thinks upon this while twisting the loose ends of his tunic in his fingertips. “He’s going to become a servant to see his sisters again?”

“That’s his plan, yes,” Malik confirms.

Blinking, Harry questions, “Are there any other plans?”

Malik sits up and pulls a book from his satchel. “I believe I am to be tutoring you at the moment. What do you know of the alphabet?”

***

It takes him an entirety of two months before Harry can read and another month before he can write his name. During which Louis has become more and more outrageous in his demands of Harry. Asking him to do things he, himself, could easily do and Harry often finds himself forgetting the heartbroken stable boy that skillfully mucked the stables.

But sometimes he catches Louis off guard. Sees him at his worst in the early mornings every once in a while when Liam needs Harry to awaken the boy. Then, Louis’s eyes are puffy and red. He isn’t smirking at Harry, but cuddled in on himself.

It breaks Harry’s heart.

It’s also then that Harry remembers of Malik’s words. Louis’s plan to run away to be with his sisters. He becomes more and more paranoid each passing day that he’ll wake up to find Niall and Liam in the kitchens, waiting for Louis to return.

It pushes him so that he does everything Louis demands and hopes it will keep the lad around longer. He feels helplessly selfish with this wish.

Harry finds himself seeking out Lord Malik one day. He searches deep into the chambers of the castle and finds the man in the library with an apple. He doesn’t look surprised to see Harry outside their tutoring hour at night.

“Louis can’t leave,” he greets the Lord.

“He’s his own person, he can do what he wants,” Malik returns easily, not even looking up from his manual.

Harry collapses into a chair and groans before explaining himself. “He can’t leave his mother. She’d be alone.”

Finally, Malik looks up and tilts his head. “That is what is currently keeping him here, yes. However, the former Lady Tomlinson is to return to her mother’s cottage soon. The royals have grown uneasy by her presence in the castle.”

“There must be another way,” he pleads.

Malik sets his book down and regards Harry before rubbing a hand across his face. “What do you know of me? Of how I came to the Tomlinson estate?”

To be honest, Harry never questioned much about Lord Malik. He regrets that now, of course. At his silence, Malik explains, “I’m not a noble of this country, I was given that title to silence questions of my presence around the family. I have a speciality, a trade that interested the family in their early years.”

Harry nods for him to continue, head buzzing lightly.

“Louis was a stable boy when I met him. His mother had yet to remarry and gain her title. I wasn’t supposed to be in England at all, actually. The nobility of my land had me travel to...learn more of the dealings in this country. I came upon Doncaster in my travels to gain that knowledge,” he pauses here and looks at Harry curiously. “It seems people don’t like foreigners, because my first night spent here, I got into a pub fight. Men came over and demanded I leave at once. Louis helped me fight them off and...I’ve been indebted to him ever since.”

Harry can hardly breath he’s so fascinated by the story.

“I was the one that manipulated the affair of Lady and Lord Tomlinson. The duke had taken affection to her and I pushed it a bit. Next thing Louis and I knew, we were moving into this castle. I taught Louis how to read and write, another tutor taught him history and maths. He became noble in every area but his birth. My debt was repaid.”

He pauses a second time to shake his head. “Of course there is only so much you can manipulate. No one can really force anyone else to feel a certain way and so the Duke fell out of love. Maybe became disenchanted by the poor girl he once found to be mysteriously beautiful. So now here we are, a family built in lies eventually got torn apart. I’m sure Louis blames me,” he adds. His face twists in his guilt and magnifies the sketches of scars that scatter on his forehead and chin.

Harry is careful with his response. “I think if Louis blamed you you’d know about it.”

“Regardless, he hasn’t sought me out to do more than ask after you,” Malik dismisses with a wave of his hand.

Harry freezes. “He’s inquired after me?”

Malik laughs and rests a hand on Harry’s shoulder briefly before standing and stretching his limbs. “You’re special,” he repeats and walks away, pausing at the doorway. “If you can get Louis to talk to me, I have a plan to fix what I broke.”

***

Harry finds himself next to two unimpressed friends outside of Louis’s bedchambers. He had to divulge more than what he wanted to get Liam and Niall this far.

“Why would Louis leave all this behind?” Liam asks.

The question makes Harry more snappish than usual. “He misses them and I know that you know that.”

Niall groans. “I can’t believe this.”

But the three of them go in without much more protest. Louis is napping at his desk, head rested in his arms and soft sores coming out in little nosey breaths.

“Your Grace,” Harry whispers.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Let a professional handle this, Styles,” and walks over to tap on Louis’s shoulder.

He wakes with a start and blinks owlishly at the three of them. “Do I want to know why you’re here?” he asks, voice scratchy.

“You’re needed in the library. Now,” Niall says and turns on his heels. Liam follows him while Harry is more hesitant, eyeing the cute little fluffy former-Lord.

“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me what’s happening,” Louis grumbles to himself as he leads the way out into the corridors.

Harry doesn’t provide a response and Louis more or less stomps to the library, halting in his movements before reaching the room to regard Harry. “You okay?” he asks and looks like he regrets releasing the words from his mouth.

“More than. Thank you,” Harry replies.

Louis shrugs a bit and avoids eye contact when he turns for the library door. “I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

He takes three steps into the library, sees Malik, and nearly books it the fuck out again. Liam catches his shoulder and guides him gently to the table while Harry looks on, worrying his bottom lip.

“Let me fix it,” Malik says.

“Fuck off, Zayn,” Louis snaps.

A pause.

“Miss them,” a soft whisper causes Zayn to nod his agreement.

“They’re brave. We taught them well. They can do it, Lou.”

The nickname startles the three in the background, but they watch on silently until Louis hesitant nod of head.

“Okay...fix it,” Louis says firmly.

***

The news of the four sisters disappearance leaves the country in bafflement. One morning the servants of Duke Tomlinson’s London estate woke to find the girls and all their positions gone. No trace they were ever there in the first place.

Of course, it was Louis’s mucking skills that came in useful when acquiring the girls in the middle of the night.

Lady Tomlinson was more than happy to keep watch while Niall mixed a sleeping draft Zayn created into fresh wheat ingredients. Harry baked the bread while Liam, Zayn, and Louis ran around, acquiring bits and pieces of the girls’ things.

The girls picked the locks on their bedroom doors and the band of mix-matched persons left quickly, Liam carrying a very confused terrier dog in his arms.

The ten of them arrived in a foreign land after a few days travel. It was only then that Harry was informed that Lord Malik is actually Prince Zayn Malik.

***

“Fetch me an England history manual, Styles,” Louis commanded.

Harry kept himself from rolling his eyes and trotted off to the library to grab the book. He isn’t a servant anymore. In fact, he doesn’t pretend to be invisible when he spots Fizzy in the library, rather, he walks over and places a gentle kiss to her temple.

Her giggles echo his return to Louis’s chambers where he finds the stable-boy nervously fidgeting with the bottom of his tunic.

“I’m sort of...fond over you,” Louis says before snatching the book and running away.

Harry races after him and pulls the boy by his elbow back into him. He’s blushing and fidgeting in Harry’s arms. “Who’s the fool now?”

At Louis’s squawk of protest, Harry places a firm kiss on his nose and runs away.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously that ending was rushed and it makes me so very, very sad.
> 
> Glad you got through it though! Much love.


End file.
